


Anything You Want (I'll Give it Up)

by dizzzylu



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Implied Gangbang, M/M, cameo by Claude Grioux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: Taylor takes his time packing up his stuff, nobody meeting his eyes as they file out, quiet and disappointed. Maybe even a little ashamed. It's nothing Taylor doesn't feel himself, that little nugget of self-loathing after every loss. The knowledge that they couldn't pull it out for their rookie, the number one draft pick, burning sour in their gut.





	Anything You Want (I'll Give it Up)

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all know the fandom trope where the winning team gets the losing team's rookie (or player of their choice) for the night, to do with what they will? Well, this fic is the aftermath (ish). Because my brain sucks and always goes to the worst places. Takes place after the 13 January game when the Devils lost 5 to 2.
> 
> This might be the Id-iest fic I've ever written. Blame it on the group chat. 
> 
> I think I tagged for everything, but if I didn't, let me know.

Taylor takes his time packing up his stuff, nobody meeting his eyes as they file out, quiet and disappointed. Maybe even a little ashamed. It's nothing Taylor doesn't feel himself, that little nugget of self-loathing after every loss. The knowledge that they couldn't pull it out for their rookie, the number one draft pick, burning sour in their gut. Taylor may feel it a little more than the rest of them, but it's not like any of them know that for sure. Not yet.

The door clicking open sounds too loud in the silence, and Taylor's head jerks up to see Nico shuffling in, wearing a pair of Philly sweatpants and mismatched socks, Giroux in a suit a step behind. Taylor shoves up from the bench, concerned and angry and ready to fight. Giroux holds up his hands in surrender.

"Gudy got a little enthusiastic. I'm sorry." 

Taylor takes him in long enough to see the honest apology there, but then his eyes are on Nico, inspecting every last inch of him. From the fall of hair hiding his eyes to the split in his lip, fingerprint bruises scattered over his torso and the shadow of something darker edging over the borrowed pants. He can't even imagine the mess beneath; dried come and sweat and spit. More bruises, or worse. Taylor steadies himself with a breath, hands clenched into fists to keep from dragging Nico to him. "Just get out," he says, voice steady. Claude nods and flees, leaving Nico and Taylor alone, the space of the Devils logo between them.

"You okay?" Taylor says. It's routine by now, but it still feels stupid. He remembers how he felt, when it was his rookie season. He was often miles from okay, and not very willing to let his captain tend to him. Not like he does for Nico. 

"Will be," Nico rasps, voice sounding like glass grinding against gravel. He can't look Taylor in the eye yet.

"Can I?" Taylor asks, making a vague gesture at the pants. He can't look at them, the logo too mocking. Nico nods and steps closer, the invitation Taylor was looking for to close the distance.

Taylor folds his arms around Nico and sighs, one hand stroking his hair. "Did they hurt you?" he murmurs. Nico's never chatty when he comes back, but this time feels different, his whole body trembling with it, and Taylor tightens his arms, presses their bodies together to let Nico share his warmth.

Nico wraps his arms around Taylor's waist in a loose circle and sighs. "Not like that."

"Like what then?"

"Just take me home?"

Taylor hums. "Can you make it through a shower first? I can't have those pants in my car."

Nico grunts, throws his hands up at his sides as best he can with Taylor hemming them in. "Fine, sure."

Eye contact is closer, but even better is the hint of a smile, the way he leans into Taylor's grip, shifting his weight to allow Taylor to pull off the socks, then the pants. Taylor watches him disappear into the showers and, unwilling to let Nico out of his eyesight for long, skins out of his own sweats in one swift motion. As an afterthought, he grabs a bottle of Gatorade on his way toward the showers.

Even though no one is there but the two of them, Nico still chooses the furthest faucet, letting the scalding water beat down on his head, his wide shoulders. With one hand, he uses a bar of soap to lather at his belly and his chest. The other hand is flat against the wall, holding himself up. Taylor takes it all in, for the sixth fucking time in a row, and approaches on quiet feet. 

"Drink," he says, bumping the bottle against Nico's ribs. Nico holds up the bar of soap and Taylor makes the switch, eyes raking over Nico's body now that he doesn't have the pants to ignore. 

There are rules of course, to this little tradition, but each team is always going to be different, each _season_ different. And it's not like somebody's going to report another team for skirting the rules just a little bit, not if they don't want this taken away from them. Still, it's kind of disgusting sometimes, to see how creative some guys can be in leaving their mark. Both physically and mentally. 

For all the Flyers have that broadstreet bully reputation, they do tend to hew pretty close to the line. Taylor hates that he's surprised by this; Giroux's a good guy, a good captain. Has a pretty sweet rookie of his own that some would love to take down a peg. Still, the fingerprint bruises are plentiful, the hint of teeth apparent near Nico's nipple. Lower, the bruises turn darker, bigger. The shape of teeth unmistakable at Nico's waist and groin, several of them high up on his thighs, black and vicious. Taylor swipes his soapy palms over them, wishing it were that easy to whisk them away all together.

With a tap at his hip, Taylor urges Nico to turn around, to let Taylor see the back. It's worse and better; dried come flaky and gross, all across the small of his back, his ass, his thighs. But most distinct is the rosy red flush to Nico's skin. His ass and thighs burning with it. Taylor tries to be gentle, washing away every last trace of bodily fluid, but Nico still flinches, legs shuddering. 

This last step is the one Taylor hates the most, both necessary and intrusive. Nico leans forward a little, to make it easier for Taylor to clean in between his cheeks, to make sure the Flyers didn't do any major damage in all their smug enthusiasm. But Nico's hole only looks red and puffy, like he's been well-ridden, not damaged. Taylor draws a lazy circle with his thumb, comfort and a warning all at once, and then slips a finger inside, holding his breath. 

Nico is slick inside, warm and loose, but relatively clean otherwise. Taylor huffs out his breath as Nico rocks into the intrusion. "I could've told you they used condoms," Nico says, looking over his shoulder at Taylor crouched behind him.

Taylor gives his leg a friendly squeeze and eases himself up. "And I still would've checked." He uses his palms to chase away the suds, then pushes his fingers into Nico's wet hair and kisses him, slow and languid, comforting.

Fingernails dragging over his ribs makes Taylor gasp, and he pulls away to take in Nico's face. His eyes are dark, his lips red. The split at the corner is small, but still sets Taylor's teeth on edge. He wants to ask how it happened, who did it, but that's another of the "rules." No retaliation, no matter what.

"Home," Nico says, his fingernails more emphatic this time. Taylor nods and kisses him again, because his hands are still in Nico's hair. Because he wants to.

The ride is silent until it becomes apparent where Taylor is headed. 

"I meant mine," Nico groans, head thudding against the window.

"When have I ever?" Taylor says, a well-worn argument now that they're halfway through the season.

"I can hope one day you'll listen."

"Keep hopin'."

A silent drive this late at night means plenty of time for Taylor's brain to trace through the map of bruises. For each one to seem a little darker, a little bigger, more possessive. The lights in Taylor's room make it worse, Nico peeling out of his suit exhausted and oblivious to the show he's putting on. But Taylor watches every move, every hitch in Nico's step, every slight flinch, until Nico's curled up on his side, facing away from Taylor. Once Taylor is undressed, has hung up both their suits, he can't resist prowling up the length of Nico's body, kissing every bruise along the way. There's a faint hand-shaped one high on his bicep that makes Taylor's gut burn. He takes his time with that one, nipping and sucking at the edges, hoping to reshape it, make it his own. Nico rolls onto his back when he's had enough and Taylor drops to his forearms, blanketing Nico's body. "I'm sorry," he says, pained, face tucked in the crook of Nico's neck.

Nico gives a little shrug, one hand in Taylor's hair, guiding his head up. "S'how it works, right?" He kisses Taylor, quiet and lazy, legs shifting to let Taylor settle between them. The subtle change makes his breath hitch and Taylor shouldn't escalate, shouldn't deepen the kiss and sigh into Nico's mouth, hands in his hair pulling tight, tight. He can't help it though, something inside him broken and furious about it, and his hips move, grinding little circles that have Nico shivering. 

"Please," he says, almost a sob, nails digging into Taylor's skin.

Taylor lets go of Nico's hair, pushes it away from his face, and shushes him with soft, wet kisses to his cheek and forehead, jaw and neck. "I gotcha," Taylor breathes into his ear, tugging at the lobe. Says it again against Nico's collar bone, the hollow of his throat. Taylor takes his time working his way down, giving each bruise a kiss, a lick. Trying to re-write history with the press of his fingers, the scrape of his teeth.

Kneeling in between Nico's legs, Taylor eases off his boxers, already knowing what lies beneath. Except the bruises look so much worse in the shadows, dark and angry. Black. Obscene. Taylor drops his head, hands splayed over Nico's thighs, and breathes through the shame, the surge of possession. He counts each breath: five. Another five. After the twelfth, Nico hisses and Taylor's eyes pop open. 

"Your hand," Nico says, leg shifting. Taylor looks down to see his thumb digging into one of the worst bruises, the skin gone white from the pressure. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, not sure he's sorry at all. He smooths his palms along the outside of Nico's thighs, studying every last inch of bruised skin, fighting between the need to _fix this_ and let Nico rest. Nico makes the choice for him, nudging Taylor with a heel. 

"Do it," he says, eyes heavy-lidded. "You know you want to."

"Yeah but—"

" _I_ want you to," the cocky lilt to his voice zinging through Taylor's blood. 

The problem is, there's too much, one bruise fading into another. Some still with teeth marks, most without. Taylor doesn't have the time to work on all of them, not if they want to get enough sleep. But there is one, offensive more for its location than anything else; right in the hip cut, where the leg joins the body. Above the pubic hair, it's distinctly mouth-shaped, with a neat line of teeth marks that are deeper than the rest. Taylor arranges himself on his belly, one of Nico's legs hooked over his shoulder, and sucks. Nico arches into it, breathless, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the twisted sheets. 

Taylor stops after a handful of seconds, pets Nico's ribs, kisses his thigh, light and soothing. Once Nico's breathing steadies out, Taylor goes again, using his teeth to change the shape, blur its edges. It puts his cheek right next to Nico's dick, and he can feel the heat, smell the need. He shouldn't want it, want Nico hard again, but Taylor's dick throbs in response and he grinds against the bed, his groan muffled by Nico's skin. Nico keens and Taylor eases off to mouth at the base of his dick. It's dirty pool, but Nico seems to like it, hips twisting a little in Taylor's grip. 

He lets another minute go by and then ducks in for the last try, the edge right in the hip cut. It'll be the most painful tomorrow, probably, but that's all the more reason for Taylor to try, to make it _count_. He gets up on his elbows for the best leverage, arms wrapped around Nico's thighs, and sucks. Nico groans, fingers twisting in Taylor's hair. It makes Taylor suck harder, dig his teeth in and _bite_ until Nico's hips jerk and he cries out. 

He lets himself be pulled up into a kiss, Nico breaking away after a minute to mutter, "You're horrible," into Taylor's mouth.

Taylor grins. "You like it."

Nico ducks in for another kiss to avoid answering, which only proves Taylor's point. It's okay though, it's not like kissing Nico is a hardship. No, the problem is Taylor's hips and how they want to move. He shouldn't want it, though. Nico's had more than enough tonight, it's late and they both should've been asleep an hour ago, but Nico's hips are insistent too, his leg hooking around Taylor's to get better friction. 

Taylor pulls away to get a breath, to smooth away the hair from Nico's face and calm them both down. Instead, he nuzzles Nico's cheek, tasting salt there, and says, "Can I?" He doesn't mean to, really, but Nico's hands are in his hair, clinging and desperate, and Taylor's long past the point of doing the right thing. Passed that exit months ago, if he's honest with himself.

Nico nods, eyes locked on Taylor's, and kisses him again deep and thorough, breathless and begging. When they break for a breath, Taylor reaches over for the lube and a condom, hand shaky. Before he can pull them back, blunt fingers wrap around his wrist and Nico's plucking at the condom with the other. Taylor watches as it sails across the room. "I shouldn't," he says, rough and dazed.

Nico swallows, his eyes big and dark. "I want you to."

Taylor's heart stops, his chest heavy with it. They've never gone without before, and they should definitely have a long discussion about it before they do, but they can't. Not now, not like this. And Nico never asks for anything, not after a loss. How can Taylor deny him, when not a bit of him wants to.

He dips in and kisses Nico until they can't breathe. "We're gonna talk about this in the morning."

Nico wiggles his hips and grins at Taylor's surprised grunt. "Whatever you want." Taylor kisses a line down Nico's neck to keep from saying something stupid.

The lube is warm from his hand, and Nico's still relaxed from earlier, so it's nothing for Taylor to slick himself up and push inside, slow and steady, staying low, close. Weight on his forearms, caging in Nico. He freezes when hips meet ass, and it hits him then: everything he feels, everything he's been telling himself he can't want from Nico, all clogged up in his throat, wanting to spill out. The ease in which Nico's body accepted him and not having a condom to dull the sensation, it's all so overwhelming. Taylor takes a second, focusing on Nico's breathing to steady his own. 

That lasts long enough for Nico to get impatient. For him to hitch a leg around Taylor's waist and stretch out his neck for Taylor's mouth. Taylor chooses a bruise to bite at and Nico throws his arm around Taylor's neck, keeping him near. It gets Taylor moving, a smooth, sedate pace that Nico rocks his hips into. It's not going to get them anywhere anytime soon, but it's enough for Nico to make these thick wet noises low in his throat. Quiet groans that buzz against Taylor's tongue.

A hiss draws Taylor's attention to Nico's face, to his mouth and the bead of blood oozing from the split. It's close enough to the side Nico likes to bite, when he's being stubborn and trying to hold back his noises. Taylor croons and laps at it, sucking a little, until Nico sighs and his whole body goes lax, eyes sliding shut. Taylor takes that as his cue to move things along and he does, hooking an arm under Nico's knee and grinding his hips, searching for the angle that'll make Nico shake. He knows he hits it when Nico's fingernails scape against Taylor's skull and along his spine, sharp and desperate. Better still are the sweet little sobs he makes, all wet and broken, mumbled words Taylor's still can't understand. Taylor shushes him even as he speeds up, thrusts turning sharper, harder. 

In this position, the two of them so close, the sweat sheening their skin, his belly keeps brushing against Nico's dick. Not enough to get him off, but Nico gasps at every touch, tired and oversensitive. It spurs Taylor faster, fiercer. His body greedy for it now, his thrusts turning ragged, chasing his orgasm, Nico barely along for the ride. 

It hits Taylor like a brick, hard and sharp, and he cries out, the rhythm of his hips breaking down as he groans and shakes. Nico clings tighter, gasping into Taylor's ear until Taylor slows to a stop, spent and relaxed. Unable to hold up his weight, Taylor presses their cheeks together and works to regulate his breathing, vaguely aware of Nico shivering underneath him. 

It takes a minute for Taylor to fit inside himself again, to become aware of cool air on his skin, the sticky mess of his dick, how hard Nico's working to keep his breathing even. Taylor drags his teeth over the shell of Nico's ear and asks, "You want to come again?"

"Yes, _yes_ ," Nico hisses, pinching Taylor's ass. "But it won't be—"

"Much," Taylor finishes for him. "I know, it's okay. I'll get you there." He peels away from Nico and kisses his way down Nico's body, giving extra attention to his nipples and his belly button, just to hear him choke out a laugh. Once he reaches Nico's dick, Taylor uses his shoulders to make room between Nico's thighs and uses gentle licks to get Nico's dick nice and wet. Thanks to the shower earlier, he only tastes like salt and sweat, and Taylor doesn't wait long to suck him down. 

He moves with it as Nico arches off the bed, fighting against his gag reflex until Nico settles. Then, once eager fingers tug at his hair, Taylor sets a pace, sweet and easy, his fist loose, tongue soft. It doesn't take long for Nico to start panting, for his feet to seek purchase on the bed. Taylor pulls off to lick at the head, to tongue at the slit, and to hear Nico pant, "More. Please, more." Keeping it light, Taylor drags his teeth from root to tip and sucks him back down. At the same time, his slips three fingers inside, thrusting into the slick heat of Nico's body. It isn't an easy glide, come being rather different than lube, but the thrill is even better, and Taylor spits on his fingers because what's a little more mess at this point?

Even with everything Taylor puts into it, focusing hard on all his favorite tricks, it takes Nico awhile to get there. To stutter out Taylor's name, to pull Taylor's hair and clench down around his fingers. The pain in Taylor's scalp is sharp, but he rides it out, swallowing and swallowing until Nico whines and pulls hard enough to get Taylor's mouth off his dick. Nico doesn't let go even as Taylor creeps up the bed, covering Nico's body with his own. Nico's shivering, eyes closed, but he's smiling, and Taylor drops down to his elbows to share his body heat. Taylor noses at the skin behind Nico's ear, where he's unmarked and smells like himself, until the tremors die down and Nico releases his hair.

"Okay?" Taylor murmurs, sliding to the side. He uses an elbow to prop himself up, his free hand spread over one side of Nico's rib cage.

Nico squirms around, tongues at the split in his lip and hums a small, pleased sound. There's even a slight curve to his lips that Taylor's helpless to resist. He leans in and presses a kiss there, then another and another, until Nico sighs and drags his nails over Taylor's scalp. "We need to get cleaned up," he says, the words interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. 

"Like you can stand right now." Taylor presses their foreheads together and huffs a laugh. "Just stay here, I'll be right back." He slides to the edge of the mattress and shuffles off to the bathroom, feeling sticky but amazing. And maybe a little tired. He doesn't bother with the light in there, letting the water get warm while he fishes around for a clean washcloth. It doesn't take much for him to wipe down his groin, then wet another rag and head back to the bed. Nico is uncharacteristically pliant, letting himself be arranged like a doll, until Taylor is satisfied with a baseline cleanliness. If there's anything he missed, it's nothing that can't wait until morning. 

Before he gets into bed, he tosses the covers over Nico's prone body, then slides in underneath them, giving Nico some space for the first time all night. He kind of wants it for himself, too. To catch his breath and let all the need bleed out of him. It's easier in the dark, with his eyes closed, the steady in an out of Nico's breathing beside him. It feels less fraught, even if Taylor already has the map of bruises memorized. 

After a handful of minutes, the comforter ripples and Nico scoots closer, until he can sling an arm over Taylor's stomach and rest his head on Taylor's shoulder. Surprised, pleased, Taylor presses a kiss to Nico's hair and pets him from the top of his spine to the curve of his ass and back again. A slow, soothing rhythm that Nico melts into little by little, until he's all but boneless, his breathing deep and even.

"I gotcha," Taylor rumbles into the dark, thinking Nico's asleep. 

Nico hums a moment later, the vibration tickling Taylor's skin, and says, "I know."


End file.
